by Noel Amos
'Hurry,' sighed Tina, kicking the flimsy garment from her foot and displaying to Tom the candy-pink split of her open-mouthed pussy, wisps of fine blonde hair curling on the apex of her mound, the spread lips wet and eager. Then the thrilling sight was blotted from his view by the dark shape of Shani's head as she plunged between Tina's legs, her glossy black locks covering the girl's slim white thighs.
Tom shut his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. It was wrong of him to watch, he knew, he was trespassing on a private moment of significance. This performance, however, was not to be scorned. Shani made love like she sang - with passion and commitment. He opened his eyes again.
The women had shifted position. Tina was on her back, her knees lifted, her thighs spread, her bottom on the edge of the bed. Shani was on her knees on the floor, her head dipping to Tina's crotch, her hands roaming the flesh of her lover's supine body. Her cafe au lait skin glistened in the morning sunlight as she worked, her brown fingers now pressing hard into the girl's inner thigh, leaving pink fingerprints on the white skin. Her broad rear jutted towards the doorway, the black panties cutting into the flesh of her spread buttocks. As she sucked and kissed the younger girl, her back hollowed and her arse swayed. She was eating the girl alive.
There was a low keening in the air which rose to a sob. Tina's hand was pressed to her mouth, as if she were trying to suppress the sound, but the rush of orgasm was now upon her and she was screaming through her fingers at a pitch that threatened to shatter glass. Shani was remorseless. Her arms were a band of steel around the girl's thighs and her mouth was locked to her vagina. At last the high-pitched cry cracked and broke into sobs. Tina reached down to pull Shani into her arms and the pair of them lay on the bed in a shuddering embrace.
There was silence. Tom wanted to move his position but he didn't dare. Then the girls began to whisper.
'I love you,' he heard Tina say and the singer mumbled something into her ear.
'No,' said Tina, 'please not now.'
'That's tough,' said Shani, 'because you got no choice,' and she got off the bed and walked towards the door. Tom had no idea what he would have done if she had taken a pace further but she didn't. She stood in front of a chest of drawers and pulled something from it. Then she unhooked her bra, spilling forth her big brown breasts, the nipples a bluish black, the dark circles of her areolae gleaming. She stepped out of her panties and dried herself with them between her legs. The thick black hair of her pussy was cropped short and the deep crease of her cunt split was fully on view. Then she strapped on the dummy penis.
Tom wondered later why he hadn't come in his pants - or maybe he had. His entire crotch seemed soaked yet his cock was as hard as a rock. As his shell-shocked brain devoured the incredible sight before him he wondered if it would ever go down again.
Despite her protests, Tina's eyes were wide with excitement as Shani returned to the bed. Shani found cream and Tina rubbed it onto the pink plastic truncheon thrusting from Shani's crotch.
'It's so big,' she said, anointing the gleaming tip. 'I'll never take all that.'
But she did and Tom could see that she loved the sensation as it disappeared up her hungry little snatch. From his position by the door he could savour every nuance of this unusual coupling: woman on woman, brown skin on white, heavy breasts crushed against swollen strawberry buds, black locks mingling with blonde - and the glistening dark ovals of Shani's buttocks rising and falling between Tina's slender white thighs, driving the plastic monster home to cries of mingled delight.
Tom had never seen two women making love before and the sight of it thrilled him to the core. It also gave him an idea.
The women sang their way to orgasm. One voice low and guttural, the other sweet and high-pitched. They balanced each other, the notes spiralling up the scale in harmony they fucked each other to ecstasy.
They were making so much noise there was little need of Tom to take precautions, nevertheless he tiptoed away. What he had to say to Shani could wait, in any case it needed refining in the light of what had just occurred to him. Right now he had to see Maeve urgently. Unless he buried his rock hard erection between her willing thighs soon he felt it would be with him for ever. However, he didn't intend telling her how he had acquired such a passionate need.
As he closed the door of the flat behind him the women sang on, their duet far from its conclusion.
Chapter 20
Once Tom had sold his big idea to Shani he knew things would go according to plan. He'd always known she was ambitious but not until he'd seen her standing over Tina - that big pink dildo thrusting like a weapon from her loins, a fierce intensity burning in her face - had he realised that she was also ruthless. She had simply nodded when he explained what he wanted her to do. She didn't like it but she would do it. And God help him if it didn't work.
By a stroke of luck the Shagbags had landed a spot on a local TV magazine show Newspoint Sou'-Sou' West - the keyboard player's brother worked on the show as a researcher. Tom knew that no one would take any notice of a poxy three minutes on regional late-afternoon telly but that didn't matter. What did matter was what the papers would say the next morning. His original contact on the Sunday Skunk had now moved to the daily version. Tom made the call.
To Tom's way of thinking, Shani and the girls put on a sensational performance. The song was one of Christina's, moody and mellow and - the way Shani put it over - very sexy. Of course, Tom couldn't look at her without imagining the raw passion which she had displayed when making love. He pictured her big black-nippled breasts quivering and the broad ovals of her buttocks undulating as she thrust between Tina's pale thighs. The image had haunted his thoughts for days.
For the performance, Tom had insisted that Tina abandon her punk uniform. So now she wore a thin white shift that left her arms and shoulders bare and flowed around her long coltish body. She had also dropped the pretence that she could play the guitar, so now she stood to the side of the stage mouthing the chorus harmony into a microphone. To Tom's eye, she looked like a virgin sacrifice.
As the number moved to its climax, Shani took hold of Tina and pulled her to the centre of the stage. The contrast between them was exciting: the voluptuous black woman in leather side by side with the slim blonde maiden. They were singing into the same mike so their mouths were close. As Shani hit her last note she closed her lips over Tina's, holding the girl tight in an uninhibited kiss.
For Tina, there was no escape. Surprise flickered in her liquid brown eyes and then they closed as she surrendered to her lover's embrace. 'Soul Kissing' was the name of the song and that's what they did, mouths locked, tongues entwined, the bootlace thin strap of Tina's dress falling off her shoulder as Shani's arms crushed her with uncompromising fervour. Behind them the Shagbags played on into the fadeout and the producer held the shot tight on the two women eating each other alive before someone elbowed him in the ribs and he cut to a traffic report.
Tom had the next morning's edition of the Daily Skunk delivered to Chas Cross by messenger, together with another tape of Shani and the girls. On a slow news day, the paper had run a photo of Shani and Tina with their tongues down each other's throats across half the front page above the heading SHAGGED ROTTEN! The article read:
Move over Johnny Rotten! Punk rock moved into a new era yesterday when girl-group Shani and the Shagbags flaunted their deviant sexuality on television. Soon after two of their number kissed and pawed each other before an audience of millions, a spokesperson for the group said, 'We're taking music away from politics and putting it back where it belongs - in the bedroom. And if the bed is shared by two women, so what? We're not ashamed to say it's OK if girls want to shag each other. In fact, it's great!'
More followed inside, including the revelation that Tina was the runaway daughter of Professor Lionel Slack who had himself fled the country when he had been caught with his hand up his female students' skirts the previous year. There were provocative pictures of Shani, showing a r
avine of glistening cleavage, and a shot of Tina which made her look about ten. A sanctimonious leader comment complained of falling standards of moral guidance provided by teachers. What pleased Tom most however was the reporter's conclusion:
If this kind of behaviour is designed to attract attention to the group's music, there is really no need for it. In the Skunk's opinion Shani is the most sensational new singing talent we have produced in years and her material is as strong as her voice. Our advice to these ambitious young women is - drop the stunts and get down to the recording studio. Quick!
As far as Tom was concerned, it couldn't have been better if he had written the copy himself.
It had the desired effect. The phone call he had been hoping for came at midday.
'All right, Tom,' said Chas Cross, 'exactly what kind of a deal are you looking for?'
Three - Arse for Art's Sake
Chapter 21
Cassie Crow had no doubt that The Come-Again Lifestyle was going to be a raging success. The kids at Fragrant were pulling out all the stops on the extracts and she had the book publishers - what a sad sack of wimps they were - eating out of her hand. And Chastity Honeydew, the author, was due to fly in shortly from California to provide an exclusive interview and oversee the volunteer profiles.
Just one thing was bothering her - her own Come-Again regime. Under Philippe's gloriously rigid tutelage she had been busting her targets but for the past week the Frenchman had been ducking appointments. First he claimed to have a cold and now to have damaged his back.
'How?' she had demanded on receiving the news. 'You're built like a brick shithouse - don't tell me your plunger's bust.' When sincerely annoyed, Cassie's New South Wales origins tended to show.
The long and the short of it was that Cassie had been robbed of her very personal trainer and had to fall back on her own resources to make her targets. This had proved difficult. Though she womanfully massaged and kneaded, probed and stroked - with a full battery of sex aids - she found wanking hard work. She needed that ridiculous sausage of flesh that all males, no matter how cretinous, carried with them wherever they went. But what she did not need was the whole baggage of personal politics that inevitably accompanied the sausage. 'Gimme the toad without the whole,' was her philosophy these days.
Many times she had flicked through her bulging Filofax and lifted the phone to call some past or would-be lover and then thought better of it. She didn't have the time or the emotional energy. Damn that fornicating Frenchman!
Cassie was churning the situation over in her head as she jogged round the pond in the park. Philippe had insisted on early morning exercise as part of the regime and she had kept it up. She might be failing her POT but she was damned if she was going to develop one.
It was a beautiful day - an azure blue sky, a low sun slanting through the leaves, ducks and moorhens afloat on the green water without a care in the world. The air was clean and pure - except around a bench occupied by two scruffy erks who were chain-smoking in a toxic haze.
'Hey, this is a smoke-free zone,' yelled Cassie as she passed them for a second time. 'Why don't you stick your head in the oven? It's quicker,' she said on the third. Until a year ago Cassie had been a sixty-a-day girl and she had all the zeal of a convert.
Now she had their full attention. She could feel their eyes on the pump of her sun-browned thighs, on the twinkle of her buttocks in her tiny white shorts, on the rise and fall of her bosom as she bounded along the path. One of them, she noticed, was broad and muscular with tattoos on his bare arms, the other was blond, skinny and very young. The first had piercing blue eyes and the blond's were a liquid brown - she saw this when she plumped herself down between them at the end of her fourth circuit.
'Hi, guys,' she said. 'Great morning, isn't it?'
The one with blue eyes said something in a Glaswegian accent that took her a moment to decipher. Unscrambled, it was revealed as 'A great morning to fuck your big arse.'
She looked back at him steadily. 'Why don't you then?' she said.
He grinned, his teeth were big and white and his lips petal pink. Cassie's heart was pounding - and not just from her exertions.
He placed a large gnarled hand on her right breast and squeezed her tit. 'Give us a kiss,' he said but by the time she realised that's what it was his tongue was halfway down her throat.
She clung to his muscular torso, sucking on him. He pulled her T-shirt from her waistband and up to her neck. 'Let's see what you've got,' he muttered, yanking her sports bra upwards and spilling her big white breasts out into the sunlight.
'Bloody hell!' whispered the blond boy, his eyes out on stalks at this fabulous display. His Adam's apple bobbed in his long thin neck as he spoke.
'Touch me,' she said to him. 'Feel my tits. Pinch my nipples. Go on.'
As the boy's shaking hands closed on her, she shivered. This was more like it! She was acting like a mad slut and she didn't care.
The one with blue eyes was looking over to the other side of the pond. A middle-aged woman with a dog was slowly moving in their direction. She hadn't seen them yet.
Blue-eyes pulled the T-shirt down over her quivering tits, Blondie's fingers still cupping the big globes.
'You're a crazy bitch,' the Scot said. 'What's your game?'
Cassie had a hand in each of their laps, searching out the outline of their genitals beneath the denim of their jeans. There's a sausage to each cretin, she reminded herself as she found two taut bulges. Big sausages too.
'Take me somewhere and fuck me,' she said. 'You know you want to.' There was no doubt about that. Blondie's cock was twitching beneath her fingers. It would be fun to make him come in his pants if it wasn't such a waste.
'Let's take her with us, Jimbo,' said the blond boy. 'Please.'
Jimbo reflected for a moment. Cassie scratched a long nail across the hard baton of flesh trapped against his thigh.
'OK,' he said at last. 'We'll take her to the house.'
'What house?' she said, a note of caution sounding for the first time in her head.
'It's just by here, we're doing it up. The owner should have left by now so we'll be OK.'
Jimbo made her walk in front of them as they left the park and he kept up a commentary for the benefit of his young companion.
'She's a big lass, this one. Classy though. You're in for a treat. Look at those legs, Ally, firm and strong - I bet they could squeeze the life out of a man. What a way to go, eh?'
'Fantastic!' cried Ally. Cassie wondered if he was a virgin. 'She's got a good cunt on her too, you can tell by the gap at the top of her legs. If it's too wide then she'll be slack, no friction on your dick, you see. But that looks just about right, not too tight to strangle your tackle and broad enough in the hips to give you a good ride.'
'And her arse, Jimbo! Fantastic.'
Cassie swung her hips in an exaggerated fashion.
'Too right, chummy. I can't wait to climb on board.'
Cassie thrilled to the sound of these half-baked crudities. What arrogant pigs they were! If they didn't give her what she wanted maybe she'd hand them over to Claire Quartermain. Not that the TCD would bother with proles like these two.
They stopped in front of a terraced house festooned with scaffolding. The front door was open and a grizzled giant of about sixty was mixing plaster in a bucket.
'Where you bin?' he said when he caught sight of Jimbo and Ally. 'Mrs Shackleton wanted to talk to you but she had to go.' He addressed the Scot but his eyes were on Cassie.
'Good,' said Jimbo. 'This is Mrs Smith,' he added. 'She's come to look at how we're getting on. She's thinking of having a loft extension, aren't you, Mrs Smith?' He shot Cassie a meaningful look.
'That's right,' she said, playing along. 'Can I go in?' and she strode up the garden path without waiting for a reply. Jimbo and Ally fell in behind her, leaving the bemused giant to continue with his plaster.
'Don't worry about him,' said Jimbo, directing her up the stairs wit
h a hand on her bottom, 'he's as thick as two short planks.'
On the walk to the house Cassie had worried about being ravished in a building site. It was one thing to have two eager roughs between your thighs in the heat of the moment, but quite another to spend the rest of the day pulling splinters out of your bum. She need not have worried. From what she could see the loft space was in building chaos, but the rest of the house was obviously lived in - presumably by Mrs Shackleton.
'In here,' said Jimbo, opening a door on the first-floor landing and pushing Cassie into a large and comfortable bedroom. The big bed dominated the space, the cream bedspread and blue duvet calling out to be tumbled on. But the two men were all over Cassie already, Ally grinding his pelvis into her buttocks and Jimbo pulling her tits into the open. They showed all the signs of wanting to fuck her standing up.
'Put me on the bed,' she ordered as their hands plucked at her clothes. God, it was marvellous to be stripped naked by these two horny brutes! She didn't make it easy for them, only lifting her arms when she feared they would tear her T-shirt from her body.
The three of them toppled onto the bed. There were four hands and two mouths upon her, Jimbo's unshaven chin was rough on the tender skin of her breasts. She shivered with pleasure. She'd never had two men at her before. She was going to savour every moment.